Kicking Hick To the Curb Requires a Superhuman Effort

See that? No, not the sweet little speckled pup in the foreground.

The green trash dumpster in the background. Out at the end of the driveway. Here. I'll zoom in for you. I was simply making a point that our curb is farther away than most.

Yep. That's as far as my phone will zoom. Perhaps it gives you an indication of the lengths we go to in order to have our trash carted away by a big noisy truck at 6:00 a.m. on Thursdays.

The trash dumpster used to be The Pony's responsibility, as it was Genius's before him. The filling and the transport of said dumpster is not too much to ask of a teenage boy. Not in Val's opinion. They're young and spry and only need to be reminded 10 or 12 times through the week to take a bag from the kitchen to the dumpster, and the dumpster to the curb, if we had one, by Thursday morning at 6:00.

Apparently, it's too much to ask of an adult man. Hick has been sorely derelict in his dumpster duties now that the boys are both gone. I don't mind taking out the kitchen trash whenever it's full. That's better than piling items like an unsanitary JENGA game while waiting for him to take it out. I do mind, though, taking a bag of trash to the end of the driveway. Hick took the dumpster up on the evening of August 24th, the week we returned from getting The Pony settled at college. AND LEFT IT. Left it there through Labor Day weekend, when pickup was a day later. Left it there, in fact, until Monday evening, September 12th. Uh huh. That was just this week!

I was sitting on the front porch pew, petting the dogs, having given them their evening snack while supper was cooking, when we heard Hick's car coming up the road. Yes. The dogs know which one is his. We were all surprised when it stopped momentarily upon entering the driveway. Then started again. Hick was holding the dumpster handle and pulling it alongside the car.

I call shenanigans!

If that's all he had to do, why did he wait three weeks to bring the dumpster back to the garage? He drives up the driveway every freakin' day! Let the record show that when the boys were small, Val took that dumpster up there herself, and brought it back after dumping. That was when her knees were young and spry, despite the two surgeries inflicted upon the left one in her younger and sprier days. She even used to walk this driveway for fun and exercise. Walked all around the front grounds, making a big loop across the barn field. But now her knees are gone. Val is not taunting Even Steven when she's home alone, walking up that uneven graveled drive with a yipping long doggie intertwining her feet and jumping on her heels like a middle-schooler trying to give his buddy a flat tire. In case you're not old enough, or haven't spent enough years hanging around a middle school, that's when you step on a kid's shoe heel and make him walk out of it. Jack does it quite a lot, when he's not in front of me jumping at my knees. I am leery of falling and having no one to rescue me.

Yes, Hick works a full time job while Val only hangs out at home, doing the same household chores as in days of yore. Forgive her for not wanting to dislocate a knee and lay in the driveway all day until Hick comes home (and possibly runs over her before noticing). I DID take out several bags of trash over the past couple weeks. I drove them to the end of the driveway and put them in the dumpster on my trips to town. Since Hick brought Dumpy back, I have taken out three bags. Not that Hick has noticed.

We really miss The Pony. I'm not quite ready to get rid of the only other human homestead occupant at this time. Check with me after December.

Voodoo VALenomics

Uh huh. Just as I suspected. You all claim innocence in The Great Diet Coke Intervention of Val 2016! Better start looking side-eyed at each other. The shifty sidelong glance. Because somewhere in your midst is one who has a little likeness of Val sitting next to their electronic device. Made from a corncob, perhaps. With a tuft of dog hair, and SnoCap eyes, and chicken bone legs, and Twizzler arms. A little likeness that they shook on Sunday around 11:37 a.m., making the Voodoo Val Twizzler arms all bendy and flappy and out of control. But we're getting ahead of ourselves here...

I finally procured my 44 oz Diet Coke on Sunday morning, and arrived back at the homestead with it intact. It was a bit later than I'd planned, but I had my magical elixir, and leftover chicken in Frig II, my better equal other half on the way home, fleabags on the porch who adore me, undisturbed computer time awaiting me...and all was right with the world. I warmed my breast (heh, heh) in the microwave (the one with TWO handles, made from drawer knobs that Hick had on hand), sprinkled a generous portion of powdered Great Value Cherry Limeade in my Diet Coke, filled up two bubba cups with ice, and prepared to hike them down a rocky trail to the bottom of the Grand Canyon transport them down the 13 steps to my dark basement lair.

This process is almost as big an undertaking as planning a meet-up with my mom used to be. I have to put the bubba cups in a Walmart bag, then squeeze my 44 oz Diet Coke down between them, and test it several times to make sure they are balanced when I drape it over my arm. With that hand, I carry a tray with my meal. Phone goes in shirt pocket. My other hand is used to hang onto the banister spindles that surround the big opening down to the basement, because there is no rail on either side. Halfway down, I have to set down the tray, switch my 800-lb bag of ice/elixir to the other arm, and pick up the tray again, to reach the now-empty hand onto part of the ceiling and then a metal support pole at the bottom, just to steady myself. I really, really miss The Pony.

Despite whichever ne'er-do-well tried to thwart my Diet-Coking spree, I made it down safely. I put my breast (heh, heh) on the left side of my keyboard, and the bubba cups and 44 oz on the right, as usual. Then I took one bubba to fill with water from the NASCAR bathroom sink next to my office. Oh, yes. I had it made in the shade. Actually, NOT the shade, because I've been leaving the light on in my dark basement lair. You know. Since I'm home alone. And there are lots of noises unexplained...

Yes, Val was livin' high on the hog! I fired up New Delly and logged in. Set out one aspirin and one ibuprofen for later, the first for my clotting issues, the second for my disgruntled knees. I took a couple swigs of my beverage, and added 15 pieces of ice from the other bubba cup. Sometimes that varies. It needs just enough to bring the level to the rim. Then I put the lid back on, and it's good for four or five hours.

I turned to take a bite of breast (heh, heh). It's fried, you know, that gas station chicken. And absolutely succulent. With grease juices dripping down my chin, I reached over to the right for a paper towel. I always keep a couple there, folded up, next to my printer area. I've done it a million times. Or at least as many times as I've eaten gas station chicken down there. I like a routine. Everything laid out just so. I could do it in the dark. But this time, somebody was jigglin' Val's effigy. My right hand hit my precious 44 oz Diet Coke

AND TURNED IT OVER AND SPILLED ABOUT 11 OZ!!!

Of course that red elixir poured out onto my stack of the past three years' tax forms. It spread out toward the Panasonic (sadly, he has no name) phone near my computer tower. It surrounded my three flash drives. Four pens. A little notebook that I do some writing in, with the business card of agent Jill Marr in the front pocket. It inundated my mouse pad.

I was shocked. SHOCKED! Not so much by the mess, as by the loss. The loss of some ounces of my precious 44 oz Diet Coke! I grabbed a small Styrofoam bowl that was stacked on the counter to the left, from when I have double-bowled some BBQ slaw that might split a single bowl. I put it under the edge of the counter where that red pool was forming a red waterfall. You know what? That whole new lake of Cherry Limeade Diet Coke came right over the edge. It was as if somebody had pulled the plug in a bathtub of Cherry Limeade Diet Coke. I guess it was the capillary action, even though it wasn't in a tube. So technically, cohesion would be a better explanation by a former physics teacher, those molecules of Cherry Limeade Diet Coke, the major component of which is water, were sticking to each other and following one another over the edge like tiny red molecular lemmings over a cliff.

At this sight, I thought, "What the not-heaven? I can pour this bowl of Cherry Limeade Diet Coke back into my cup!" And I DID! I saved most of my soda. Just a little bit got on the floor. Oh, and a little bit soaked into the taxes. But other than that, I must have had a good 39 oz left!

I'm pretty sure drinking some scratch-off lottery ticket shavings didn't hurt me. And my counter has never been cleaner!

Val does not need an intervention. You can toss Voodoo Val back in the corncrib.

Will I Give Up Diet Coke Today? No. I Will Not.

Okay, which one of yous wise guys is trying to force an intervention on Val?

Could it be the scaly quacker who prefers Diet Pepsi to Diet Coke? Or the campground seamstress/gardener/dog-lover who associates the diet variety with he who provides her extra chores? The formerly-portly motormouth who thinks diet root beer would give Val the same kick? The disgruntled elder fellow whose palate is so undiscerning that he and his statesmen don't know the difference between dirty water and spirits in their drinks? The madam who used to prefer her beverages from the secret workplace maragarita machine over Diet Coke? The unofficial mentor of Val whose veins would gush out chicken soup if she sliced her thumb like an onion? Surely it's not the sparkplug who used to wear short shorts to cross state lines, since he understands that Diet Coke has no comparison.

C'mon! Fess up! One of you is behind my recent misfortune. This is only PART ONE, my interveners. Tomorrow you will get the rest of the story. But for now, let's stick to yesterday. Yesterday...all my troubles hit before midday. Now it seems as though y'all did betray. Val's Diet Coke was not okay.

First cat out of the bag, I headed to town to pick up my magical elixir. Uh huh. I even got up early. By 8:00 o'clock! I showered and headed for town. Planned to have my 44 oz Diet Coke home by 10:00 instead of the usual 1:00. Hick was coming home, and I wanted to leisurely sip my precious beverage, not chug it in two hours, or let it get all watery while I sat on the front porch to catch up on his trip.

Wouldn't you know it? On a SUNDAY, mind you, I came across Ameren UE putting in a new utility pole down on the county road before the low water bridge. I could drive five miles out of my way to go around, or wait until they were good 'n' ready to let me through. I waited.

Once in town, I went to cash in some lottery tickets and trade them for more. That was accomplished at the Casey's General Store. I hadn't bought any tickets there in a while.

Whose bright idea was THAT? The gal clerk was ragging on the guy clerk over some problem her customer had with the gas pump. Something about $2.00 he paid but it didn't show up. Hick on a tuxedo pumping a handcar! I'd have given the dude two dollars to shut up and leave! Guy Clerk had already scanned my tickets. This kerfuffle was keeping him from forking over my new tickets. And he had nothing to do with the situation. He told Gal Clerk she could go out and look at the pump, and how to deal with it. WELL! She was madder 'n Hick finding poop on his Toronado! She stomped out there so huffily that I think the customer would have paid another two dollars to slink away unnoticed.

Can you believe I only won $20? And it took up too much time. My time is worth more than $20 per 15 minutes! I'm retired, you know.

So...I figured I'd get my soda from Orb K. It's cheaper than the gas station chicken store, and the one I got Saturday when I picked up chicken was not all that great. As I turned off T-Hoe's ignition, I observed six people walk through the door of Orb K. And they all looked like soda-drinkers!!! Of course they were. But only four were in line, because one gal was getting three sodas. So I waited my turn. Disgruntledly.

Imagine my surprise when I pushed my cup under the spigot at the Polar Pop fountain at Orb K, and saw CLEAR LIQUID running in!

I took that cup to the pay line. Val was not gonna get arrested for not paying. I'm not sure of Orb K's policies, but the gas station chicken store has a sign that if you pull a cup, you pay. Of course those soda-drinkers were all in line. I was customer #7. The guy working was an old geezer I'd never seen there before. So of course they gave him a shift on Sunday. That's the weekend, you know. When convenience stores with a 10-bay gas pump area right off the highway are kind of busy.

Once I got my turn, I waved that cup. Said, as I stepped up, "Don't bother to ring this up. I'm not paying. I just wanted to show you that your Diet Coke is out. See? It's clear. I'm going to take it back and pour it out. I just wanted to show you."

And do you know what that slow-motion guy said to me? He said, "Do you want me to go fill it?" I don't know about you, but I was a bit dubious as to whether this guy knew what to do. What was going to happen to all those customers backed up behind me? It would probably take him five minutes to even walk back there. Then he'd have to ask somebody what to do. Nope.

And then do you know what that slow-motion guy said to me? "Don't you want a different kind?"

NOT-HEAVEN NO!!!

I went back to the Polar Pop soda fountain and poured my clear Diet Coke in the drain trough under the spigots. A lady was holding a 44 oz cup, scanning her choices. She gave me the eye. "Might I suggest that you don't try the Diet Coke? Because it looks like THIS!" If only I had a button to push for that Psycho soundtrack stabby music! That lady said, "Oh, I tried it first, and I see what you mean."

You know what I had to do, right? I had to drive back under the overpass and get my 44 oz Diet Coke from the gas station chicken store. Which I could have done earlier, since it is only two doors down from Casey's, if I had only known the Diet Coke situation at Orb K.

So who did it? Which one of you planned this subtle intervention? I'd like to thank whoever it was, because compared to what happened at home, this was small potatoes...

Cuckoo Ain't Just a Clock in Val's Kitchen

It looks like Val was the only one who didn't attend the Sooners game yesterday to see The Pony walk out on the field to be honored for his National Merit Scholar(ship).

Okay, there were 85,000 in attendance, and chances are that some of them were there for other reasons than to watch The Pony. I know, right? What were they thinking?

Make that crowd 85,000 plus one. And the ONE was definitely there to see The Pony.

 "A ladybug landed on me just now."

Text and picture courtesy of The Pony, who was sitting on a bench by the stadium, waiting to meet up with the National Merit group for their walk-on. It landed on his gray slacks, and crawled up onto his red National Merit Scholar shirt they were given at the dinner that Friday night he moved in. The shirt he left laying on the dinner table, making Hick run after him to give it back.

Quite the coincidences our family seems to have with the ladybugs...

Nobody Better Be Messin' With VALsquatch!

It's Saturday at Thevictorian homestead, and Val has a plan.

Hick and HOS (Hick's Oldest Son) are in Oklahoma to see The Pony walk out on the field in front of 85,000 screaming fans (according to The Pony) to be recognized, along with 277 other members of the freshman class, for his National Merit Scholar pretty-full ride to OU. I remained behind this trip, not being a fan of crowds. Or walking.

I planned the perfect day. Up by 9:00 a.m. (!), off to town by 11:00 to pick up my 44 oz Diet Coke. As a special treat, I also picked up some gas station chicken! I swear, it's been six months since I had any. Or if I did, it was not memorable. So now I don't have to make myself any supper. The game itself is not on TV this week. That's because the opponent is less-than-stellar in the pigskin world. But I can get it on Pay-Per-View! And why not? After all, I bought tickets for Hick and HOS. Bought them both a shirt and cap. Sent them off for two nights and eight meals and numerous tanks of gas to Oklahoma for three days. So I think I can allow myself a Pay-Per-View Sooners game. I already informed Hick of my plans, the cost of which is less than one ticket to the actual game.

Yes, I have everything planned and timed. Even down to when to feed the livestock and play with the dogs in time to be plopped in front of the big-screen in time for kick-off. I don't harbor any delusions about seeing The Pony in his glory, because that event happens before the game, and it is unlikely to be highlighted on a Pay-Per-View football game. Still, I watched the #3 rated Sooners play last week, and get soundly spanked by the Houston Cougars. And I DON'T mean mature, oversexed women. I told that to Genius by text, and he replied, "GROSS!" Indeed! The Sooners dropped to #14 in the rankings!

Yes, I even have my snacks planned. An individual size bag of Movie Theater Popcorn, a few Snow-Caps. The game runs from 6:00 to 10:30 on the Pay-Per-View channel on DISH. Which is, perhaps, my greatest stumbling block.

At noon, I went from my dark basement lair to the basement proper, and set about ordering my game. WELL! It seems that my transaction could not be completed, because there was no telephone connection. The not-heaven you say! We have always had the phone wire plugged in. That's because DISH likes to spy on our TV watching habits, I think. Hick thinks it's a way to bill us by credit card if we miss a payment. Anyhoo...the main receiver in the living room has always been hooked up. The one downstairs, apparently not.

I was in a tizzy. Here I was, all planned out, without a payment for my view! I rooted around behind the TV in the wires. There were only about 57 of them. I know what a phone jack looks like. My dad had a career with Bell Telephone, for cryin' out loud! It's the little flat thingy that hooks in, with the little notch thingy on it that you have to squeeze to unplug.

EUREKA! I found the cord! It was NOT plugged in to anything! Darn that dude who put in our DISH internet and fiddled with our receiver. Or darn Genius when we upgraded to our DVR and didn't plug in the phone jack. Anyhoo, I found it! I knew the problem, and how to solve it. I plugged it in and went back to the remote to hit YES that I wanted to purchase the view.

Nope. Still a message that a phone line could not be detected.

I went back behind the TV. Unplugged the wire. Looked for a different hole to stuff it in. Whoopsie! I'd put it into the blu-ray player! Such an innocent mistake. They LOOK alike! Both are flat and black. And one is on top of the other. I put the phone plug into the DISH receiver. It took a minute, because that jack was upside down compared to the one on the blu-ray. Got it! I went back to the remote to hit YES that I wanted to purchase the view.

Nope. Still a message that a phone line could not be detected.

Nobody was home to consult! Genius is off at a music festival in Kansas City, having forsaken his solar car donor to another tour guide from this year's team. Hick was in Oklahoma. The Pony was busy not-caring in Oklahoma. So I did what any woman would do, and turned off the DISH receiver. Then turned it back on. Went to the channel for paying for the Sooners game, and tried again.

VOILA! I'm a freakin' genius! It worked, by cracky! It said it was completing the purchase. And THEN it let me schedule it for recording on the DVR.

I hope this is not some kind of cruel trick by the DISH people. I'd hate to be made a fool of like Sasquatch on those Jack Links commercials.

Back-of-the-Book-Blurb Friday #25 "Overheated Canine Sublime"

Blog buddy Sioux is hosting Back-of-the-Book-Blurb Friday. I have 150 words to convince you to fake-buy my fake book. Let's see what I can cook up this week, shall we? How about a fake cookbook? Surely there's a need for such a thing! I know how much you've all enjoyed my recipes for Super Nachos and Chex Mix and Barbecue Slaw and Roasted Vinchtables. It's only fitting that Val branch out into the fake cookbook field. At least it will be her own recipes (I'm lookin' at YOU, certain young wife of a standup comedian famous for his show about nothing). So pony up your fake cash and fake-buy Val's latest fake book!

Overheated Canine Sublime

Ever since Sal Thethicktorian's proposed handbasket factory stalled, a new moneymaking scheme venture is critical. Her latest post-retirement endeavor is a food truck: "Strange Dog."

On the carnival circuit, or moonlighting on city streets, Sal's most requested item is the LoinWurstDog, a pork loin stuffed with a bratwurst stuffed with a hot dog. It's $49.95. Hubby needs a new pair of shoe inserts!

Sal's menu? Anything shaped like a hot dog. Try Sal's Hot Corn Dog: a roasted ear of sweet corn on a tempura-batter bun, dusted with cayenne pepper. Kids love the Sweet Pappy Johnson: Pixie Stix shaken onto a split gum cigar. On a hot summer day, try Sponge-Worthy Pop: a popsicle on a sliced loaf of spongecake, drizzled with snow-cone syrup.

A cookbook for people who like their junk food junky, with photos from Sal's summer heartland tour. Will folks with food allergies cry shenanigans? (148 words)

__________________________________________________________________

Fake Reviews for Val’s Fake Book

Emeril Lagasse…”BAM! That's what I'd like to do to this author. Her recipes leave a bad taste in my mouth.” 

Julia Child…”I am turning slowly in my grave, like a shoat roasting on a spit, at this fake work of culinary blasphemy. Val Thevictorian should be roasting on her own spit, over the flames of Not-Heaven.” 

Wolfgang Puck…”Am I still relevant? I'll pan this fake author's fake book if it gets my name in the news again.” 

Martha Stewart…”This fake book is sorely lacking. Could Thevictorian not even THINK of putting a wiener dog on a bed of Sweet Hawaiian Rolls? Oh, wait. Will this make me even more unpopular than I was during the zenith of my notoriety?” 

Alton Brown…”I see no way for Thevictorian to promote this fake book. We can't have her on Cutthroat Kitchen because another contestant might accidentally on purpose cut her throat. We can't have her on Chopped, because another contestant might chop her. She's not even good enough for Worst Cooks in America."

Bobby Flay…”I disagree with Alton Brown. Thevictorian could have her own show on Food Network. 'Beat Val Thevictorian!' People would pay US to come on the show and deliver a sound thrashing. And I'm NOT talking about a cook-off competition."

Anne Burrell..."Allow this restaurant chef to let you in on a little secret. Thevictorian's fake book really sucks! It takes the starch right out of my hair. Thevictorian may share my love of red Crocs, but I share no love for her recipes.  Actually, that second sentence is no secret at all."

Mario Batali..."I have my lawyers working as you read this, petitioning the Crocs corporation to revoke Thevictorian's right to wear them. Such a hack should be shod in Dollar Store knockoffs, and not sully the brand name of a premier shoe company such as Crocs. I've got your back, Ann Burrell! Thevictorian's book should be fire-roasted and used to line the garbage can of Rachel Ray."

Guy Fieri…”I'd like to run over this author with a red 1967 Chevy Camaro SS convertible! Her recipes are not fit for a dive. On second thought, I'd rather run her over with a grocery cart. Thevictorian is not worth the damage to a classic car.”

The Barefoot Contessa…”Val Thevictorian makes me want to lace up a pair of Doc Martens and kick the crap out of her. Because that's what she's full of. ” 

Giada…”This author is the opposite of me. My recipes are good, and hers are abominable. I have a stick body and a giant lollipop head, and Thevictorian has a tiny shrunken head and a bloated enormous body. Nobody's going to be confusing the two of us any time soon. Not here. Not in Italy."

Most College Kids LIKE Free Stuff, Don't They?

And now comes the time to tell tales out of school about The Pony.

When we last left him (and my heart) in Oklahoma, The Pony had just moved into his dorm, and was reaping the benefits of SOW. That's Sooner Orientation Weekend. Lots of free stuff and welcome activities. Of course, being The Pony, he was a bit lax in his reaping. More on this later...

I'm pretty sure The Pony partook of a lot of free food. Mainly pizza. And ice cream. He picked up several shirts. Got a nifty ID holder that he stuck on the back of his phone. That's how he knows he'll never forget his ID. When Hick and I got back home that Saturday night, I sent The Pony a text so he would know that we arrived. I'm sure that was weighing heavily on his mind, his first Saturday night at college, out from under Val's two-ton thumb.

"I'm playing blackjack right now! And at 9:30, I'm riding the bus to Target to pick up a few things."

"Okay. You DO have a car there, you know."

"I know. But everybody's going on the bus! The last one leaves Target at 11:30. I'm going to get a Brita water filter, and some snacks." Said The Pony, who grew up drinking well water from the former lead-mining capital of the world.

The next day, he sent me a text of his purchases, which included a 12-pack of soda. I relayed the information to Hick.

"SODA! Why would he buy SODA?"

"Um...to go with his snacks? Because it's cheaper than getting them out of the vending machine?"

"CHEAPER! When I moved him in on Thursday, they had CASES of soda stacked on the lawn. Higher than your head! With big signs saying to take some! All he had to do was pick up a case for FREE! And his roommate could have got one, too. Some kids were taking a lot of cases. But then I heard one say, 'It's not hardly worth carrying it up to the 12th floor.' And they had ELEVATORS! I don't know what's wrong with kids these days. You can bet I would have taken free soda if that had been me."

Here's the proof, from a picture the university had on its website. I don't know any of the people, but it looks like they were with various organizations that helped with move-in:

Yeah. It looks like there was plenty of FREE soda for the taking. But, being The Pony, he prefers to buy his own. In fact, a couple weekends ago, he went on a special trip for that very purpose. I think it was somewhere around Oklahoma City, because he sent me a picture of the skyline as they went by:

The Pony said he bought a six-pack of Grand Teton Grape Soda, because he thought his dad might want the bottles when he was done drinking it (awww). And also a six-pack of Australian Root Beer, because he likes root beer. No word on if Hick gets these bottles, or if The Pony threw them away. Here's a picture of the inside of the place, which also sells a lot of candy, it seems. That's the head-back of his friend who took him there:

There was another photo The Pony sent to further my understanding of irony, which showed this friend in front of one of the soda fountains, ALL OF WHICH WERE OUT OF ORDER! I won't put that one here, because I can't crop her out, and I don't know if she wants to be famous! The Pony also sent a picture of this unique treat:

He didn't tell me the name of the place, but I'm guessing from my less-than-thorough research that it's called POPS.

I suppose one of the first things I've learned from The Pony's college education is that free soda isn't good enough for him.